I’m Trying, I Swear

Expect a lot of fiction and not a lot of raving. I think. I’m trying to have something to say, but it’s hard non-fictionally to tell you how and who I am.

The brain surgery seriously, seriously messed with my head. No, seriously.

I don’t know what else to say. I guess I could tell you about what it was like waking up.

See, I don’t really remember waking up per se. I remember nothing of surgery. One moment I was telling my family I loved them; the next, I was having bizarre delusions of science-fiction hallways. I only vaguely remember the Intensive Care Unit, though I think at one point I had a nice shower, and I remember wishing to be let alone.

I remember an absolute shitload of drugs.

Oblivion. I remember that, too. Sort of.

It’s taken a long time for things to resolve properly. I’m not sure they have yet. I’ve been horribly depressed, which is nothing new, but it’s on an utterly different, utterly deeper level.

I can’t express to you what it’s been like, what it’s still like. All I know is how to fiction (I hope). So I’m doing that and I’ll show you what I can.

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